A/N: Mwahahahaha! I thought that might rattle a few people's cages... all is fair in the world of fanfiction, I'm afraid.

Now I know how to get you all to review - delay all the stuff you lot want to read! Although, I'd probably end up taking that too far, and then no one would read them, and I'd be gutted. Aw, foiled my own plan, there.

Again, I have an excuse as to how long it took to get this chapter out, but this one's a good one and it makes me feel stupid... so you'll probably enjoy it:

Because I go to work at my summer job all day, from Monday to Friday, I started to believe I wasn't enjoying my summer to the fullest...I reckoned, seeing as it's gonna be my last one in school, I should enjoy it, right? And so, about a week ago, when England was finally given the barest hint of sun, I took the executive decision to skive off work and go swimming in the nearby, massive river that runs right through the region, with some friends.

So, we spend about four hours swimming constantly, back and forth, against currents and avoiding pikes and the huge slabs of concrete - remnents of a bridge that was once there... so by the time we finally got out of the river, we were absolutely knackered and the sun had gone in. We collapse on the grassy river bank, soaking wet, wearing t-shirts and our knickers.

I go home. I wake up with the worst head-cold of my ENTIRE life, and feel like I want to die... and I'd only just gotten over it when I had to face my AS level results... which were great, actually... but then I had to go away for a week... and then I had work.

So, that's why this chapter was so late.

Bear in mind I was feverish when I wrote this! Please review and enjoy!

cheers AliciAxxx

p.s: Also, while I generally live in a past/fantasy world, as a rule (ie. am obsessed with LOTR, Pirates of the Caribbean, Master and Commander, Star Wars etc), I have recently become almost entirely focused on more modern day fandoms. The main obsessions at the minute being LOST, Starsky and Hutch, House and The West Wing. Because of this, I have found it a fair bit harder to locate my muse in respect to this story, but hopefully I have it back now.

p.p.s: Hugh Laurie for Prime Minister!

Legolas had been tackled to the ground, and at that precise moment, that was the only thing he knew.

His vision became hazy and a pain had developed in his chest with the weight of the orc on top of him, it's dark protective armor digging sharply into his ribs. He knew that he must kill this orc, or instead be killed himself... a prospect he was not altogether fond of.

Blows were being dealt mercilessly all across his body, and he was back-handed by the orc using the shaft of the barbed sword the thing held. Though the dimness of his mind he could hear the cries of his friends in trouble from all around the clearing, so loud in his ears he thought he could not bear it - the sounds spurred Legolas on to fight back and escape, if only to help them.

Fighting back with sudden renewed vigour, Legolas coiled and writhed underneath the creature. He jolted and twisted, struck out wildly with his arms and kicked his legs with all his might so the orc, which was quite a size, began to lose it's pinning grip on him.

The orc roared with frustration and brought down the barbed-sword it held with a violent scream: Legolas' honed instincts were too good for that, though, as his last white hunting knife was revealed in a flash and firmly locked itself with the blade, held against his throat, quivering with the effort of keeping the razor-sharp edge away from the pale skin of his neck.

He glared up with rancour into the face of his attacker, feeling the hot, putrid breath dance upon his face, and seeing the blood-thirst in it's evil yellow eyes, the hatred in the orc's disfigured face. He fought against his sudden instinct to gag.

"Not so strong now, are you, ELF," the orc baited in halting Westron, his words poison to Legolas' ears. The thing sneered, displaying two rows of horrendous, rotting yellow fangs.

Legolas' handsome face twisted into a matching mask of abhorrance, and he spat into the orc's right eye. "Don't count on it, YRCH," he replied, voice low and dangerous.

The creature screamed again in anger, and there was another sudden flourish of weapons. The orc hurled his black sword down again and again, hoping to connect with the elf's golden head or, failing that, any part of his body. But Legolas fought back with all his strength and, even in such a confined space and with his limited body use, he matched the evil thing blow for blow, parrying with a skill that far passed any other being walking the earth at that time.

He was not the youngest captain of Mirkwood's forces for nothing.

But suddenly, he felt a liquid hot flash of pain pierce his stomach, and he gulped in a great breath of air before an agonised shout escaped his throat. He had never known pain like this before, but he knew not what had happened. Legolas felt as though a million arrows and daggers were inside his belly, fighting to get out, tearing at his insides. His green eyes darkened and slid out of focus, and sweat beaded upon his furrowed brow, before snaking down his face... but still he fought on, seeing no other choice open to him.

The orc swung down with his dark sword, but Legolas knocked it back and threw a blow in it's face, connecting solidly. The creature retaliated by punching him soundly in the chest, but the elf stopped this by slashing blindly at the thing's ugly face, causing it to relent slightly in order to keep it's eyesight. But Legolas' reactions were slowing, and his resolve waning... it would only be a matter of time before this fight ended, one way or another.

Finally, he succeeded in spearing the orc through it's thick chest with his knife, just as the creature had raised both it's arms to bring down the fatal blow that would surely have ended the prince's life. Surprised yellow eyes glinted down at Legolas, before the orc toppled backwards and landed with a dull thud, arms still raised threateningly.

Legolas tried to move his legs, to free himself of the orc corpse, allowing him to stand and aid his brother and friends, but the long limbs simply would not obey the commands his brain was sending to them. The lay there, inert and useless, trecherous.

Panic rose in his throat, clawed at his lungs, and he fought the urge to gasp as he brought his arms down to his stomach, where a dull ache was lancing through him. why couldn't he move. His suddenly weak fingers released his dagger without his prior knowledge. Legolas felt dizzy and sick, and was unable to form a thought in his head other than one fixated directly on the pain creeping across his body, through his blood, flaring from his stomach.

Finally, his searching hands found the source, and he pressed his numb, shaking fingers to his flesh. He held back a shout, but could not prevent himself moaning a little as the agony he felt intensified. Legolas slwoly raised his hand to look at it, and was faintly surprised to see thick, viscous blood coating his palm completely. He watched in distant fascination as a large red droplet wandered vaguely his forearm, colouring his armguard.

Legolas could feel his world becoming blurry, and he struggled to remain lucid... he needed to find out what had happened to Fienngil and the others. They needed him to help them! What if they were injured - he couldn't bear it if he were to blame. He had to get up. Get up!

He moaned again, feeling wetness beginning to seep into the backs of his leggings - a small part of his brain knowing it wasn't simply the feel of the cold ground, telling him relentlessly it was his own blood. The graying world around him faded to complete black, and he was unsure whether he would wake up from it this time.

The lids that covered the bright eyes flickered, before they were slowly raised to reveal unfocused grey-blue eyes, the colour of storms over the sea.

Fienngil was unsure as to what had just happened, but after a moment he was able to piece together enough information to know that he was lying on the floor... and his head hurt.

"My prince, at last you wake!" came a distant voice, and Fienngil's sharp senses felt the tiny vibrations through the earth of an elf running closer to him. He blinked his eyes upwards in time to be greeted with the oddly-cheerful, upside-down face of Abrome, bending curiously over him. The dark-haired elf looked to be fine, with no obvious injuries... the guard looked a little alarming, though, seemingly painted from head to toe in black orc blood, giving the mild elf a decidedly frightening appearance.

Fienngil struggled to sit up, sheer stubborn pride making him bat away the helping hand Abrome immediately offered, "Was I knocked out for long?"

"Nay, my prince: I, myself, only just woke a minute or so ago," Abrome smiled slightly, shrugging his thin shoulders, wincing at some wound unknown to Fienngil, "it's just I have always wanted to say that."

The prince chuckled at the Royal Guard's oddness, than groaned and clutched his pounding head, noting the blood that was caked there, "I am surprised you have not had the opportunity with Legolas..." he trailed off, fear lancing through his heart, and he latched wide eyes on Abrome. "Legolas! What of my brother?"

The panic that flared instantaneously in Abrome's jet-black eyes, before the stoic young elf deftly masked it, was enough to send a chill down Fienngil's bruised spine. The elder prince shot up from the floor, fighting the nausea that threatened to claim him, and wheeled around to face the smaller elf, "You know not where your charge is? The elf you swore to protect with your life!" Fienngil knew this was massively unfair to the guard, who had proven his worth for watching over Legolas many times, and who was almost as dear to the young archer as any of his five brothers.

Abrome, a shy personality in all respects, stiffened, and anger darted across his fine features. The guard turned his back on Legolas' brother and look all around the camp, noting two fallen shapes of elves amid the masses of orc corpses: neither of them had the shining blonde hair that identified his prince. His quite tone held a bristling edge to it, as he turned backl, "I awoke maybe forty seconds before you did, my prince, and busied myself with securing the perimeter, as is my priority... I would have thought you, as a captain of Mirkwood's forces, would understand."

Fienngil, though knowing he was in the wrong, could not afford the time nor the effort at that moment to apologise. He growled rudely in dismissal, a habit he had picked up from his father, and began to stalk the clearing, aware of Abrome doing the same in the other direction, both with the common aim of finding Legolas as soon as physically possible. He saw that Tauredal, at least, was beginning to stir, and felt gladdened... before he caught sight of Maegathir's twisted, inert form still lying at the base of one of the taller tree. Fienngil grimaced, hoping against hope the elder elf was okay, praying for his respite, just until they'd had the chance to find Legolas and make sure he was okay.

A panicked shout drew his attention to Abrome, and he ran on shaking legs to the other side of the clearing, following the sound even though he could not see the guard. Moving through the few trees, he found the dark haired elf leaning over something, hands moving frantically over the form.

He saw long legs clad in green leggings lying haphazardly in a pool of blood. His heart clenched as he saw the skewed angle of the right arm and the desperation of the left hand, daubed completely in red, that had clutched at a belly, but now lay limp upon a raw mass of ragged flesh. He saw a death-white mask, and eyes tightly shut against the horror of reality. He saw bright golden hair, the colour of sunny mornings, spilled across the forest floor, some strands died red.

Fienngil saw his worst nightmare.

A/N: What did you think? I'm all guns raring to write the next chapter, for a change. So the sooner you review and let me know your thoughts and opinions on this one, the sooner I can start writing it... you dig? Thankyou to every one who has reviewed so far.